Sunday, April 12, 2015

At Long Last

The widows are open, my bare skin has been kissed by the sun. The kids have been biking up and down the street, the grass needs a good raking. The birds sing happy songs, the chipmunks and squirrels reappear. The fresh air gives us all an excited feeling, and we are colouring chalk doodles all up the walkway instead of watching another movie. Spring is here!


Spring makes me want to get poetic. There is so much beauty and bursting colour concentrated in one quick transition after such a long, dark, cold wait. Here is one of my favourite poems to celebrate to winder of the season.

A Light Exists in Spring
By Emily Dickinson

A Light exists in Spring
Not present on the Year
At any other period —
When March is scarcely here

A Color stands abroad
On Solitary Fields
That Science cannot overtake
But Human Nature feels.

It waits upon the Lawn,
It shows the furthest Tree
Upon the furthest Slope you know
It almost speaks to you.

Then as Horizons step
Or Noons report away
Without the Formula of sound
It passes and we stay —

A quality of loss

Affecting our Content
As Trade had suddenly encroached
Upon a Sacrament.




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